BlackWatch
by Dark-Fayth
Summary: When Bond is marked out for assassination with nobody apparently behind it, he realises that some of his troubles were never put to rest at all. Immediately follows Goldeneye
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – It's what keeps me alive.

Bond stared out of the window into the raining world outside. He had been naïve. Trust was out of the question, and he had trusted somebody. He leant his head against the cold surface of the window and closed his eyes. Betrayal. That was all this world consisted of, and all he had known all his life. Yet he had trusted this man, and that's why he hurt. They had both come from similar backgrounds. Both had served Queen and Country. He was the closest to a brother James had ever seen in his career, given how quick his colleagues came and went, and that in itself was special. He had trusted him. And that's why he hurt so much now, because he had forgotten not to trust, so in a way, all this was his own fault. Physical pain? That came with the job. But the pain inside? He had learnt a long time ago not to trust anybody, all it did was hurt him, but over the years the pain had faded away, and he had forgotten.

"For England James?"

Bond swallowed, trying hard not to hit the window, to let the rain outside engulf him. But then it was gone. The memories that plagued him vanished. He was used to this, putting missions aside. So many times he just had to put the past behind him, and this would be no different. He turned around slowly, and dropped himself down on the bed, sitting facing away from outside. Grabbing the towel around his shoulders, he brushed it through his hair, and stood up, facing the mirror as he dropped the towel and pulled on a black shirt. Buttoning it up, he sat down and slipped on black shoes, their dull surface in desperate need of a shine. Sliding off, he looked over to the desk. The black casing of the Walter PPK sat there, pointing to the wall. Lowering his eyes, Bond managed a small if somewhat forced smile, before strapping on his holster and picking up the plastic handle of the pistol in his hand. Flicking the safety switch off, he slid it into the holster, and moved his hand over to the chair, grabbing the soft black jumper from it, sliding it on and buttoning it up. Running a hand through his still wet black hair, he stared once again into the mirror. The cold brown eyes showed no reflection. Turning around swiftly to the door, he picked up the wallet, shoving it into his pocket as he flicked the latch on the door, and stepped out. Letting the door close as he walked down the corridor swiftly, he struck a finger at the elevator button. Bond had been put on leave following his last mission, only for a couple of days; just enough to come to grips with any bruises he might have occurred during the mission. He was convinced it had done just that. He nodded to the middle-aged gentleman who stepped clumsily out of the elevator, and stepped in to take his place.

Walking out of the hotel, he stepped down onto the pavement, not bothering to look out for anybody passing by. He made his way down the street, not really paying attention to what happened in the world around him. This was London. He had grown tired of the old girl, only a faint fondness of this city remained. Still, he had a job to do. Staring onwards, his eye glanced around occasionally, mostly out of habit, but he tried to not too look overly conspicuous. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but then…

A small glare caught his attention from the top left corner of his eye. Reflexively, his eyes darted upwards to the window where he had seen. Was there anything there? He couldn't tell, and was about to return his eyes to their normal gaze, when he saw the glare again, and he suddenly realised. A small face, there was no way of making it out, but it was definitely there. The glare again, just below the face. There was no mistaking it. Somebody was about to be assassinated, and Bond had no idea who. His head darted around behind him, but he tried to keep the same pace up, unwilling to draw any attention to himself. It was only then he slowly realised his fatal mistake. He had seen the glare, and that could only mean….

Bang. Cursing out loud, Bond only just managed to dive into the nearest person as the bullet slammed past, and felt the pavement shatter behind him. Pushing himself up quickly, he tripped slightly on the people running around him, screaming. But he gave them no attention, only focusing on that rooftop where that shot had come from. But the person in question had now gone. Being so high up however, they would take time getting down, and for now that was all Bond needed. Charging through the panic angst street, he pushed and shoved his way through the masses, reminding himself why he had come to hate London like this. One particularly obese civilian pushed the opposite way, Bond could see him heading towards him, and as physically fit as Bond was, he saw no point in struggling to get this man out of his way. He pushed to the side, but the torrent of passengers just continued the opposite way, Bond had no choice but to head onwards, the awkwardly embarrassing target coming within range of him. He swung a jab right into the persons shoulder, then brought it crashing down into his neck, causing the victim to smash into the floor, probably causing more damage than was probably necessary, but Bond paid no attention to him as he leapt over the unconscious corpse lying there in the street. He had a license to kill, that man was lucky he wasn't pissed off.

Bond reached the boarded doors of the seemingly derelict building, and crashed into it with his shoulder. It stung like hell, but it was nothing that wouldn't heal, and he paid no attention to it as he pushed through and felt the boards collapse underneath him. Pushing forward over metal scraps on the floor, he reached his hand down underneath his jumper and grabbed the Walther. He dodged through boxes before coming to a window overlooking the Thames behind it. Grabbing onto its' edges, he looked down to see a young athletic woman jump into a small boat, brandishing a FRF2 rifle. A similar black clad male hit the levers on the boat and it reared forward, before Bond realised what was happening. Raising the pistol, he fired a few shots, enough to scrape the boat, but nowhere near the intended target. It was more than enough to alert the passengers to his presence, who turned around looking at him as they sped away. There was only one chance he had, as he raised the pistol to eye level, and tried to keep his hand from shaking as he stared at the barrels the boat sped under as it tried to navigate its way out of the wooden maze connecting it to the main Thames. Bond shot. The barrel shook from the successful impact, but only enough to topple over with a heavy clang, and rolling off the edge, but that was all that he had wanted. It smashed into the boat and caused it to veer off to the side, heading into the brick wall of the building next to the one they had left.

The girl slowly opened her eyes, looking sideways at the metallic floor of the vessel, a strange red tint squirming in her eyes. She squinted in pain, the blur of the world around her from the shock as the boat had collided off course into the wall. What had happened? Why was she lying here on the floor defenceless. Coming to her senses, she realised her target, a British police officer of some sorts apparently, would soon catch up with her. As her vision came back to her however, she saw her comrade lying dead on the floor next to her, a bullet wound in his head. The red tint….. she quickly turned over, to see the officer, clad in all black, pointing his pistol right at her, with a slight hint of a smile on his mouth, which quickly vanished. Towering above her on the platform, he seemed like a god, not least because he now held the power to choose if she lived or died as she lay here. A tear slowly formed on her eyelashes as she bit her bottom lip, staring into the endless abyss of the gun barrel pointed at her from so far away. She tried to mutter a word, any word, but it was too late. The sound of a gun, and a creeping pain all around her as she fell deeper and deeper into her own abyss, was all she knew for the last moments, even milliseconds of her life. Then it all went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Spare me the lecture.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Bond stared into the calm eyes of his superior, refusing to flinch or budge as they launched yet another tirade at him and his 'hot-headed approach'.

"Well?" M demanded, asking it him seriously in a disapproving manner, which conveyed both the answer that he wanted to hear, and the answer he would actually hear. Bond continued to stare down the cold eyes, refusing to walk into another of M's well laid traps. Besides, it was obvious that it would make no difference to the next line that was coming. Almost right on cue, M spoke again, this time more softly. "You destroyed any evidence we could get linking somebody to the assassination attempt on you." Bond knew this, he knew how foolish he had been, yet after all these years he had over time become unworried about death, it seemed to look lightly on him, and Bond always took delight in tempting it again and again.

What he said next though, really hit Bond hard, partly out of lack of expectance, partly out of the mutual respect of the relationship. "It doesn't matter, you're only a double-0, we can find another" Bond eyes flickered, betraying the calmity he had been showing up until now. M saw, and leaned onto the table, staring him down in a professional and lethal manner. "We're assigning you to Operation Hawk, to keep you out of the way in case you're still a target. Her Majesty's Government would rather not be involved in yet another foreign crisis. Bill will fill you in on the details." Bond stood without even acknowledging these orders, and moved to the door, placing his hand on the door handle softly. He felt defeated and deflated; he was getting too old for this kind of stuff. He had even considered threatening to resign, but M knew him too well. Just before he turned the door knob, M's voice cut through the silence, but this time the words were welcome. "007... I'm sorry about Alec" Bond turned his head to look at M, nodding slightly whilst avoiding any eye contact before opening the door and sliding out.

He gave the usual smile to Monnypenny, but didn't involve himself in any friendly banter, she'd understand. She obviously knew what Bond had just been reprimanded about; she knew far more than she ever let on. She was a smart girl, Bond thought to himself, much smarter than most he met. In this ever changing world in which he lived in, she stayed the same. He quickly arrived at the Chief of Staff's office, and walked in to his secretary, who immediately sent him though to Bill. Bill looked up at James, and recognising his face immediately, smiled and offered him a seat.

"James, am I glad to see your face!"

Bond look more relaxed and at ease now. Bill had long been a more friendly face than M, who's 'number crunching' often put Bond at odds, even if it was sometimes at the expense of Bill wasted no time in getting to the point.

"Listen James, I'll be frank with you. You're little stunt last week didn't go down well."

Bond just kept his stare. "It was an assassination attempt. I've seen them before"

"We've decided….. to put you on a more low-key operation for now"

"So that my assassin doesn't compromise anything important?!"

"No. Because you screwed up James. You didn't keep your cool, and now M has decided that you are not to be trusted because of….. emotional aspects"

Bond knew this was coming. He had made an error in judgement, not on last week, but on Trevelyan, and he was to pay the price. He sighed. "What's Operation Hawk then" he asked half-heartedly.

Bill shuffled over some papers.

"Take a look"

Bond stepped off the plane into the sunlight. It felt good to be travelling again, it would help him relax. Perhaps this new assignment would actually help him. He doubted it, he'd been in the service a long time. You never healed from wounds, just tried not to limp with them. Eventually he would die. Bond laughed at this thought. Dying wasn't really something he considered given his incredible luck. Operation Hawk was simple enough in its concept he assured himself, but there was no assured date of completion. It was an observance mission, it could take months, it could take days. Customs was easy; the passport was enough to get him through. None of that cumbersome paperwork. Bond collected the package waiting for him, and noting the number written on it took the keys out of the package and strode outside into the Brazilian sunlight.

Speeding down the road towards São Paulo, Bond felt the wind blow through his hair, feeling alive again. Gripping the leather handles of the Virage, he thought silently to himself about the new assignment. A former Cuban official was seeking refuge. Carlos Dion was deemed to have sufficient knowledge to be of worth to his country, and would probably give him immunity in return for the said knowledge. It was corruption, but that wasn't Bond's job, he just did the dirty work. Bond was to monitor him, and if deemed safe, make contact. He would probably face opposition from both the Russians and Americans, and was not to form alliances with either of them. At least, none that let them get away with the prize. São Paulo was a sprawling spree of concrete, forestation sprouted every here and there, but for the most part it was just people, overpopulated, and just brimming with them. It would make it much easier to watch Dion from here. All Bond had to do now was find his apartment, then he could make observe, and assess the situation. In all honesty? Bond was starting to regret this, it just felt like he had been swept out of the way to do the dirty work usually assigned to the new recruits. This was effectively a demotion. Was Bond getting too old? He wasn't sure. He was nowhere near the 45 age limit, but…. Maybe they saw him as just the old service, all adventure and espionage without any regard for the consequences. The bloody bureaucrats had even given Bond a policy regarding women now; was he really a relic of the cold war… like M said. Bond shook these thoughts off instantly, whatever it was, it was not his place to think about it, he was just the tool of his officers. Besides, it would distract him from the mission to dwell on it. Climbing up the ladder onto the top of the small building, he looked out past the tree, over the park and over to the Hotel Grande, where Dion was staying. He reached down to his side, feeling the bumpy surface of the binoculars, and pulled them up to his eyes. He gazed into the world ahead, keeping his eyes peeled for the room he was supposed to be looking for. This could take time, but he had all the time in the world.

He had been right, it did take time, but eventually the room he had been looking for had caught his eye. He had been told to look for the blue curtains on the 5th floor. The curtains were closed, but he hadn't really expected otherwise. Well, now began the long process of waiting. This was the kind of stuff they liked to leave out of the Hollywood films, the less glamourous side of her majesty's secret service. He sat down on the terrace wall and rested; the heat of the Brazillian sun resting heavy on his nerves. Any mess ups on a simple job like this would just seek to further humiliate him. He brought up the binoculars to his eyes and...

Bond suddenly felt the cold steel of a gun barrel protrude into his neck. He froze. A familiar and weathered voice followed it.

'Well, look what we have here'


End file.
